Blind Faith
by Menecarkawan
Summary: IS SLASH! A case of a missing person brings back the past for many people. How will it turn out?
1. An Interesting Case

**Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Harry Potter or his universe. Some select characters may belong to me, but the rest belongs to the illustrious J K Rowling and her various publishers, as well as Warner Bros. Productions. **

**Author's Note: Completely, undeniably AU. Some HBP spoilers, but nothing major. Just a couple of ideas I borrowed here and there. Is SLASH! No like? No read. Simple, isn't it? HPSS, for those who are wondering.**

**Blind Faith **

**A Fanfiction Novel By: Menecarkawan **

**Prologue**

**An Interesting Case **

**ONE **

The detective delicately pushed the door open with a gloved finger, peering inside the house at the wreckage beyond. He stepped over the threshold, picking his way through the mounds of glass that littered the floor, his eyes traveling around the room, his mind making his first assessment of the crime scene.

All of the windows had been blown in somehow, not even one piece of glass left in any of the frames. Furniture was overturned everywhere, making navigation of the sitting room somewhat difficult. On the carpet in front of the hearth was a spot of blood, still slightly damp, and on the wall by the corridor was blood in a spray pattern. The detective walked over to this, examining it closely. His partner came to stand next to him.

"What ah ya thinkin'?" he asked, his New York accent coming through strong.

"Blunt force trauma, most likely," the detective replied, motioning to the sprayed blood on the wall. "A hammer, maybe?"

"Whea do ya get that from?" his partner asked, observing the blood as well.

"They'd have hit the victim on the head," he replied, lifting his hand to demonstrate. He brought it down, mimicking the action. "When they brought their hand back up," he again demonstrated, lifting his hand quickly, "the blood from the weapon would leave flecks wherever it landed." He moved his hand along the blood on the wall, showing the way it seemed to taper off.

"They could just as easily have blown the guy's head off," his partner commented.

The detective shrugged, stepping back from the wall. "We'll know when we find the body," he said. He turned toward the front door as the forensics team arrived. "I need a sample of the blood from the carpet and off of this wall."

"Yes, sir," the forensic pathologist said, brushing her red hair back from her eyes. She and her team moved into the house, taking up different posts to collect evidence.

The detective moved down the corridor, peering at the ambiguous paintings on the wall, wondering how anyone could find them even remotely pleasing. He opened a door to what appeared to be a guest bedroom. The windows here were also blown in, but the rest of the room appeared to be undisturbed. He moved farther down the corridor, leaving his partner to go through the guest room. The next door was the W/C, so he bypassed it, finding the master bedroom at the end of the corridor.

This room was strangely barren, aside from the bed, nightstands and dresser. Next to the dresser, he found an odd white stick. He flicked his wrist, and the stick elongated, revealing red stripes every so often along it's length. His partner appeared in the door.

"Looks like the victim was blind," the detective said, folding the walking stick back up.

"Yeah," his partner agreed, holding up what appeared to be a harness. "I found this in the guest room."

"Seeing Eye Dog?"

"Probably." His partner shrugged.

"Where's the dog, then?" the detective asked.

"Who knows?" his partner replied. "Dead, maybe? Or maybe the perps took the dog with them."

The detective nodded. "Could be." His eyes scanned the room, taking in the blown in windows here too. Whoever had broken in here had used powerful magic to break through equally powerful wards. He sighed heavily; this was going to be an interesting case. The perpetrators and the victim were wizards. Just bloody fantastic.


	2. Chasing a Ghost

**Chapter One**

**Chasing a Ghost**

**ONE**

Severus Snape ran a hand through his wet hair irritably, scowling heavily at the heavy traffic blocking the street next him. He loathed venturing into the Muggle world with a passion, but New York City made Muggle London seem like a nice day at the beach. He wasn't even sure _why_ he was there. He was busy spending his life searching fruitlessly for a young man who was most probably dead, and if he wasn't, he obviously didn't want to be found. If Harry Potter was still alive, he certainly knew how to disappear effectively.

Severus sighed heavily, turning to look in the window of the bookstore he was standing next to, not really seeing the books meticulously displayed there. For a long time now, Severus had been obsessed with finding Harry Potter and making sure that he was all right. Severus had felt a strong protective urge over that particular student from the first moment he observed those green eyes looking at him at the Welcoming Feast in 1991. Now, in 2007, the urge had only gotten stronger, made all the worse because Potter had been missing since 1997, nearly ten years now. Severus had searched the world, looking for any hint that might point him in the right direction, and still he had nothing. The United States of America was his last hope. Potter hadn't been anywhere else. If Severus didn't find him in the U.S., he'd be forced to assume the boy had, indeed, died when he'd killed Voldemort ten years ago.

Severus turned to continue down the street and out of the corner of his eye he saw something that made him turn sharply back toward the bookshop. Staring, he went into the store, immerging several minutes later with a hardback book held firmly in his hands. _Charlie vs. the Hungarian Ridge Tail by J. Porter._ The cover of the book depicted a teenage boy with blonde hair holding a wand pointed at a large dragon that was almost a perfect rendition of a Hungarian Ridgeback, with a few obvious differences. A wizard wrote this book, Severus was as sure of it as he was of his own name. Frowning, he tucked the book under his arm and continued down the street, heading for his hotel. Before he got there, he picked up a Muggle newspaper, as had become his habit.

Once safely ensconced in his room, he placed his new book on the small table by the bed, sat down in one of the uncomfortable vinyl chairs and opened the newspaper. Glaring at him from the front page was something that made him forget to breath for a moment.

**POPULAR AUTHOR OF CHILDREN'S STORIES, J. PORTER, VANISHES FROM HOME IN SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES!**

First, he sees this name, J. Porter, on the cover of a book depicting a rather accurate rendition of a real dragon, and now the man had vanished from his home. Severus didn't believe in coincidences, and for the first time in ten years, he felt he might be getting close to finding Potter. He only scanned the article long enough to discover the location of Porter's house, across the channel in New Jersey, and then tossed the paper aside, moving to the bed, sitting on the edge and picking up the book. He'd know after reading the book if Harry Potter and J. Porter were the same person. He made himself comfortable on the bed, placing several pillows behind him against the headboard, and began to read.

**TWO**

It was several hours later when Severus closed the book and stared silently across the room in contemplation. He recognized this writing, even if no one else would. So Potter had come to the U.S. and started writing children's tales, based on the very real magical community and passed off as fiction. It appeared that trouble followed Potter wherever he went, however, because he was still missing.

_But who would want to harm him now? _Severus wondered, absently tapping a finger against his thigh as he thought. _He's strong enough to hide whatever features he desires, and I'm sure he would have found a way to hide that scar of his if he's managed to remain hidden this long. What criminal would want to kidnap the author of children's stories? Come to that, what Muggle criminal would be _able_ to kidnap a wizard as strong as Potter? Those Muggle pleasemen aren't going to be able to find him if he was taken by wizards. I think it's time to visit New Jersey._

Having come to a temporary decision, Severus got up from the bed, placing the book back on the table, and went into the W/C for a nice hot shower before going to bed. He had a feeling that the next day would prove wearing.

**THREE**

The detective scowled darkly at the door of the unassuming home he'd come to visit. It turned out that his wizard victim was none other than J. Porter. He supposed he should have realized that Mr. Porter was a wizard after reading his _Charlie Fontain_ series, but the differences between the made up magic in the books and real magic were done so well that he hadn't noticed it. He supposed that was why Porter had avoided detection by the Ministry for so long. It also turned out that the illustrious J. Porter was a pouf. Go figure.

He raised his hand, knocking smartly on the door with his knuckles, his badge ready in his other hand.

The door opened and a sandy-haired man appeared behind it. "May I help you?" he asked pleasantly. He obviously didn't watch the news if he was this chipper.

"Mr. Samuel Thompson?" the detective asked.

"Yes?" Thompson replied, frowning slightly.

Introducing himself and flashing his badge, the detective asked if he could go inside for a chat.

"Certainly," Thompson replied, moving aside to allow the detective inside. "What's this about, Detective?" he asked once they were in his sitting room. "I haven't broken any laws, have I?"

The detective cracked a small, humorless smile. "No, you haven't," he assured Thompson. "Perhaps you could sit down and we can talk."

Thompson delicately lowered himself onto the sofa, never taking his eyes off of the detective. "What's this about?" he asked again.

The detective sat in an armchair across from Thompson, crossing his legs for effect. "I've been led to understand that you're in a relationship with the author, J. Porter," he said without inflection.

The color seemed to drain from Thompson's face. "Has something happened to him?" he asked, sounding frightened of the answer.

"As far as I can tell, he's been kidnapped," the detective replied.

If possible, Thompson went even paler, his wide blue eyes staring at the detective fearfully. "Kidnapped?" he repeated faintly.

"I'd just like to ask you a few questions."

"Yes, of course. Anything to help you find him."

"Does Mr. Porter have any enemies that you're aware of?" He held his notepad firmly, his ballpoint pen poised and ready to take notes.

Thompson shook his head. "No. Everyone loves Harry. People turn to jelly around him, he's that charming."

The detective started when Thompson called Porter 'Harry', but didn't say anything. He wrote _'Calls victim "Harry" '_ in his notebook. "Does he act charming in order to make people like him?" he asked.

Again, Thompson shook his head. "No, he just _is_ charming," he said, rubbing his face roughly with one hand. His eyes were dry when the hand fell back into his lap. "He's one of those people that just gets along with everyone, you know? He's really a good person. That's why I love him so much."

The detective frowned a bit. He wrote _'Too attached. Love potion?'_ in his notebook and looked back at Thompson. "Can you think of anything he might have done or become involved with that might make someone want to take him captive or harm him?"

"No," Thompson replied. "I mean, he writes _children's_ books, for Christ's sake! He so gentle by nature, I can't imagine why someone would want to hurt him!"

The detective nodded complacently. He wrote _'Defends victim vehemently'_ in his book. "Where were you between eleven and one last night?"

Thompson looked at him sharply. "Surely you don't think _I_ had something to do with it, do you?" he asked incredulously.

"It's a routine question," the detective replied noncommittally. Truly, he didn't believe this man had anything at all to do with it, but he had to ask, just to be sure.

"Harry and I went out to dinner last night," Thompson said. "In the city-"

"Manhattan?" the detective interrupted.

"Yes, that's right," Thompson replied. "We went to _Café Topsy_ on Hudson. We left around ten and I dropped Harry off at home around eleven. I came straight home after that and went to bed."

"And did anyone see you dropping him off, or when you got home?" the detective asked, just for the sake of protocol.

"Yes, my neighbor, Mrs. Steiner, said hello to me when I was unlocking my front door."

"Which side of you does she live on?"

"Oh, um…" Thompson rubbed his face again, looking as though he was only holding himself together by a thread. "When you go out of my front door, she'd be on the left."

The detective nodded and wrote Mrs. Steiner's name in his notebook, intending to go there next. He stood up, producing a card from inside his coat, which he handed to Thompson. "That's it for now. Call me if you think of anything that might help."

Thompson took the card, staring at it blankly. "Yeah, I will," he said, closing his eyes as he stood up to walk the detective to the door. Just as the detective was walking over the threshold, Thompson grabbed his sleeve. "You've just got to find Harry, Detective. He's my whole world."

"May I ask you one more question?" the detective asked.

"Sure, if it'll help."

"It might not even be pertinent, but then again it might. Why do you call Mr. Porter 'Harry'?"

"Oh, that. Well, his name is Harry James, but he only puts his middle initial on the cover of his books. Something about making him harder to find."

This just kept getting better and better. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Thompson."

Thompson nodded, closing the door gently behind the detective.

Harry James Porter. The detective snorted. It was too obvious to be a coincidence. His kidnapping, possible murder victim was none other than Harry Potter, the Chosen One, Defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the reason the detective was in the U.S. working as a Muggle police officer in the first place. And here he'd thought that Potter had disappeared for good. Go figure. In his notebook he wrote, _'Harry The-Thorn-In-My-Side Potter'._

**FOUR**

Severus observed the small, blue, ranch style house before him, wondering why all of the windows had please tape across them along with the door. Moving closer, he could see that the windows at the front of the house didn't have glass in them. He frowned. _Odd,_ he thought, moving toward the door. He flicked his wand and the front door clicked before swinging open silently. Ducking under the yellow tape on the doorframe, Severus entered the house, his breath catching when he saw the wreckage within. Carefully, he pushed the door closed, locking it again with his wand. He was careful not to touch anything, knowing that Muggles had ways of finding out a person's identity with the finger prints said person might leave behind. He didn't want to damage the integrity of the crime scene; he only wanted to try to find out what had happened here. He realized that all of the windows were blown inward, the glass littering the floor inside.

After putting on some gloves he had in his pocket, he placed his hand on the wall, closing his eyes and letting his magic explore freely. Almost at once, he felt the residual magic in the house, recognizing it at once as Harry's power. The boy had more power than one person should have been entitled to, and yet all he used it for was warding his home. Another, more malevolent power was present also. He had a vague sense of recognition for that magic as well, but he couldn't place where he'd felt it before.

He moved away from the wall, carefully keeping his eyes averted from the rather large brown spot on the white carpet in front of the hearth. He didn't want to think about what sorts of injuries Harry might have sustained when he'd been taken. He walked toward the open dining area he could see, noting how some of the chairs had been knocked over, but some were still pushed neatly into the table. Once he reached the dining area, he saw a door leading off to the right, so he went that way. Beyond the door was a small kitchen with all of the modern Muggle appliances to make life easy. On the floor by the exterior wall, filled with glass from the blown in windows, were two dog dishes, one filled with water and the other empty and clean, aside from the glass. _Figures Potter would get himself a dog. He seemed like a dog person._

Opening the refrigerator, Severus saw an array of different kinds of food, and a take-away box from a place called _Café Topsy._ He closed the refrigerator and went through the cabinets carefully, looking for clues Muggles might have missed. Finding nothing unusual, he left the kitchen to head toward the corridor that led away from the ruined sitting room. He closed his eyes as he passed the bloodied area, ignoring the thought that Potter might already be dead. On the left side of the corridor, he came to a bedroom. There was a queen-sized bed with Mahogany posts and frame, a matching dresser and night tables, a blue chair next to a Mahogany bookcase that was filled with books, and a door off on the right. Severus opened this door to discover a closet beyond. Inside, there were several sets of black wizard's robes, pushed off to one side, and Muggle dress shirts and trousers pushed to the other side. He frowned deeply, pulling out one of the shirts and holding it up. Either Potter had grown since Severus had last seen him, or he didn't live in this house alone.

Severus left the bedroom after replacing the shirt and closing the closet. The next door he came to was the W/C on the right hand side of the short corridor. Inside this room, he found a few phials of Dreamless Sleep potion and more phials of Headache Relief. He pocketed these, extremely relieved that the Muggles hadn't found them on their initial search of the place. Inside the combination shower/tub, Severus discovered two different types of shampoo and soap. This confirmed that Potter had a roommate of some kind. Why else would he need two different shampoos and soaps?

Moving down the corridor a bit more, he came to the last door, also on the right, and went inside. As expected, this was another bedroom, but it seemed bare. Severus had always pictured Potter surrounding himself with beautiful things to make up for the ugliness of his life up to that point. The barrenness of this room told a different story. Crouching down, Severus looked under the bed, finding a small leather suitcase beneath. He pulled this out and set it on the bed, opening it with a flick of his wand. If he'd needed anymore convincing that Potter lived here, he found it in the case. There were wizard photographs of Potter and his friends before Hogwarts had been closed during the war. There was a photo of Bill Weasley and that Fleur Delacour at their wedding, and one of the entire Weasley family, Percy included. The ginger-haired family all waved at Severus from the photograph, all of them smiling happily.

Severus wondered why Potter had these things tucked under his bed, rather than displayed about the room in pretty frames, as would be typical for him. Severus closed the case and picked it up, intending to take it with him as well. It wouldn't do for the Muggles to come back and find it. Moving around to the other side of the bed, Severus set the case on the floor so that he could go through the dresser. Everything inside was arranged by color, which struck Severus as odd, until he glanced to the side and saw the dog harness on the floor next to the night table. It appeared that Potter was blind. Closing the draw on the dresser, Severus moved to the night table, picking up the walking stick and dog harness, shrinking them and placing them carefully into his pocket. He looked out of the window onto Potter's lawn, noticing the driveway and garage at this side of the house.

He left the bedroom with the suitcase in hand and Apparated to the garage, wondering what he would find there. The garage had been turned into some kind of studio, a desk in the center, with a typewriter sitting on top. Upon closer inspection, Severus realized that the typewriter wrote in brail. It made sense. Potter was a blind writer; of course he'd need to write in a way that he could check over before sending it along to his publisher. On the desk next to the typewriter was what appeared to be a half-finished manuscript, though Severus obviously couldn't read it. Taking one last long look around, Severus Apparated back to his hotel room, determined to go through the contents of the case more thoroughly once he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. Perhaps it would shed some light on Potter's roommate.

**FIVE**

The detective sighed, running a hand over his face tiredly. He hated being back in this place, but he had to find out who had taken Potter and why. After realizing just who J. Porter was, he was certain that it had to have something to do with Death Eaters. He knew that not all of the most notorious Death Eaters had been captured, and surely, they'd want revenge for Potter killing their master. The question now was, which Death Eaters had taken Potter and where had they taken him.

He set an alarm charm to warn him if anyone was approaching, and then stood as close to the center of Potter's house as he could. He closed his eyes and began chanting, his wand held aloft, until he could feel the foreign magic powers saturating the house. There were four distinct signatures, though the detective only recognized two of them. The first was Potter's magic, the strongest of all the signatures he detected. The second was that of Severus Snape, but it was faint, as though he'd only cast a few charms and then left. The detective frowned, wondering what Snape would have been doing there. Was Snape one of the perps? If so, why did he help the others capture Potter? To what end were they working? The other two signatures he didn't recognize, but one was definitely female and malevolent. One of the perps must have been a woman. The fourth was different, as though the man had lived in the house with Potter. Of course, if Potter was a blind wizard, it would be helpful to have someone there with him. However, if Potter had a roommate, where was he? Why hadn't he been home when the attack happened? If he had been home, why hadn't he been able to help Potter overcome their assailants? Was the roommate in on it as well?

Ending the spell, the detective sat down on the edge of the overturned divan, tapping his right knee with his forefinger, thinking hard. If Death Eaters truly were the ones responsible for this, he'd have to get the Ministry involved, but he didn't want to do that. The Ministry would undoubtedly claim jurisdiction on the case and boot him back to his Muggle police station with no further say on the investigation. Not only that, but they'd most likely send a statement to the wizarding papers, announcing that the famous Boy-Who-Lived had been located… sort of. They'd expose him, and once Potter was found, if he was alive, his well-earned anonymity would be gone. The detective didn't want that to happen. With a sigh, he decided that he'd just have to figure this one out on his own. He'd distract his partner somehow, to keep him from finding out too much, and hope to find Potter before the Death Eaters killed him.

**SIX**

Harry sat shivering on the stone floor, his arm wrapped protectively around his dog. He wished that he could see his prison, but figured that it wouldn't make his situation any better. His captors had, for some reason, left his dog with him in his cell. He'd already explored it and realized it was rather small, surrounded by bars on all sides except for the back wall, which was also made of stone. Next to him, his dog whined a bit.

"Don't worry, boy," Harry said, rubbing the thick fur gently. "I've gotten out of worse scraps than this."

The dog gave a short bark, as though to say, _You weren't blind then._

Harry chuckled lightly. "We'll figure something out," he assured the dog, rubbing the fur more vigorously. He turned sharply toward the front of the cell when he heard a cruel chuckle.

"Has little Potter lost his senses?" the hateful woman's voice asked mockingly. "Is his little doggie going to help him escape?"

Harry rolled his eyes, pulling his dog closer to him. If there was anything the dog wasn't, it was _little_. Harry's dog was a Scottish Deerhound, one of the largest dog breeds in the world. He'd had to get his harness made special because usually Seeing Eye Dogs were German Shepherds, smaller than Scottish Deerhounds, for certain. Next to him, the dog in question began to growl.

"Hush, boy," Harry whispered to him. "Don't let her get to you." The dog gave another low growl before falling silent.

The woman laughed a mad, unholy laugh. "You and your little puppy will be dead soon, don't worry," she said.

"Why don't you just kill us now and get it over with, then?" Harry asked stoically. "I do so hate long waits."

"You still have your uses, Potter," the woman snapped, her sibilant, babyish voice vanishing.

"Can I at least have a divan or a chair or something?" Harry asked sarcastically. "This floor is rather uncomfortable, you know."

"Your mouth is going to get you killed before your time, boy," the woman replied.

"It seems I'm going to die before my time anyway," Harry commented lightly. "I may as well be comfortable before I go." His dog nipped his hand sharply, as though telling him to shut up. Harry heard the woman growl, and then the swish of robes as she turned on her heel and stormed away angrily.

"You know," Harry said to his dog. "She really needs to learn to relax. She might have a heart attack or something."

The dog made a breathy, panting sound that almost sounded like laughter.

Harry grimaced as his head gave another fierce jab, the lump on the back throbbing painfully. Harry raised his hand and gingerly examined the area, feeling the dried blood there clumped in his hair. "I hope this doesn't leave a scar," he said.

His dog made as though to move away from him, so Harry held on tighter. "There's nothing you can do here," he told it.

The dog barked in protest.

"I've already felt around the wards," Harry said. "They're too strong for you to break, so stop thinking about it."

The dog barked again, this time butting his head against Harry's hand.

"You're going to get yourself killed if you try anything," Harry told him. "I rather like having you alive, if you don't mind."

The dog whined pitifully, licking Harry's face in either apology or request, though Harry couldn't tell which.

"_No_, Snuffles," he said, just to be sure.

The dog whined again before laying next to Harry and falling silent.

"Don't worry too much," Harry said. "Someone will find us."

Snuffles whined a bit, not sounding so sure that he believed Harry.

**SEVEN**

Severus was back in Harry's neighbourhood, intent on speaking with the young man's neighbours. A woman opened the door he'd just knocked on, her gray hair pulled back into a bun on the back of her head. She was around 70, by Severus' estimation, and had kind brown eyes.

"May I help you?" she asked pleasantly, her accent placing her from somewhere in the south.

"Yes," Severus replied. He held out his hand for her to shake. "My name is Severus Snape, and I'm a friend of young Mr. Porter. I believe he lives next door to you?"

The woman shook his hand. "Margaret Slightman, but you can call me Maggie," she replied. "Would you like to come in?"

"That would be lovely," Severus replied, following the woman into her home. It was the typical home for a Muggle widow, adorned in flowery things with lots of knick-knacks scattered about.

"Would you like something to drink, or eat?" Maggie asked as Severus made himself comfortable on her flowery divan.

"No, thank you," he said, crossing his legs and placing his hands in his lap.

Maggie sat down in the armchair across from him and peered at him curiously. "What can I do for you?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Well, I'm trying to help the…" he paused, trying to remember the correct pronunciation before continuing, "police locate Mr. Porter. He's a good friend of mine, and I'm afraid that whoever has taken him won't keep him alive for much longer."

Maggie's expression became sad. "Harry is such a nice young man," she said ruefully. "He's always willing to help me with anything. I swear, he gets around my house better than I do, and he can't see a thing!"

Severus nodded, attempting to look sympathetic rather than impatient. "Could you tell me whom he lives with?" he asked.

"Lives with?" Maggie repeated. "Well, no one, unless you count that giant dog of his."

"I have never seen Harry's dog, though I've heard all about him," Severus said, praying that the dog was male. "Surely he can't be that big?" He smiled at her to show he was joking, hoping she'd take the bait.

"Oh, he's just about the biggest dog I've ever seen," Maggie commented. "Not that I'm an expert on dog breeds or anything, but he's about as big as a Great Dane, at least." She seemed to be on a roll now, and Severus wasn't about to interrupt her. "Black as midnight, too," she went on. "He's got the most beautiful fur, and Harry takes such good care of him. It's odd, though, the way he talks to that dog. Speaks to him as if he were human! 'Snuffles, if you break that, you're going to get it when we get home.' It's the funniest thing. Especially since Harry can't see just what Snuffles is messing with, but always knows somehow."

Severus nodded, keeping his pleasant smile on his face. "Yes, that sounds just like Harry," he said. "I wanted to ask; did you hear anything the night Harry vanished?"

"I sure did," Maggie replied. "There was this loud crash, and some shouting. I heard a thump, a loud crack, and then nothing. I called the police. Harry was already gone when they got here, though. I can't imagine how they got him out of there so fast."

Severus nodded, thinking hard. The crash would have been when the windows imploded when the wards fell. A thump -- that could only be Harry falling to the floor. A Stunner, perhaps? The loud crack was obviously the assailant Disapparating with Harry and his dog, Snuffles. The dog was another story all together. Severus felt as though he'd seen a dog just like that somewhere before. Also, the name Snuffles seemed familiar somehow, as though he'd heard it in passing once. It was impossible, though. Potter had never had a dog, as far as Severus knew, and if he had, it would have died before now. Dogs just didn't live that long. "Did you see anything unusual?" he asked.

"No," Maggie replied. "By the time I got to my window, they were gone. I didn't even get a glimpse of who it was. It must have been a big man, though, to overpower Snuffles _and_ Harry. That dog was fiercely protective over Harry."

"_Is_, Maggie," Severus corrected. "We must keep faith that they are both alive and will be coming home soon."

Maggie sniffled a bit. "You're right. Snuffles _is_ protective over Harry. Wherever they are, I hope they get home all right. I'd hate to see anything bad happen to that boy."

"I quite agree," Severus replied. "Thank you for all of your help, Maggie. You have no idea how much you've given."

Maggie nodded. "Anything to help Harry get home safe."

Severus stood up, Maggie following suit. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said, shaking her hand once more. "I'm afraid I must be going. We need to work fast if we're to help Harry."

Maggie nodded and walked him to the door. "If you find him, tell him I hope he's all right."

"I will," Severus promised before turning and walking away from the house. He went back to Potter's house, determined to find out whom that other magical signature belonged to. He knew he'd felt it before, if only he could remember where and when.

* * *

**Author's Note: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Katy, for making this legible for all of you nice folks. I forgot to thank her in the first chapter. I'm sorry! Thanks also to...**

**LeeLeePotter: Thanks!**

**Aditional Note: Cafe Topsy is a real place that is actually located on Hudson St. in New York. They specialize in Brittish foods.**


	3. Blind Faith

**WARNING: Blood and gore in this chapter. Bypass if you have a weak stomach.**

**Chapter Two**

**Blind Faith**

**ONE **

Harry's generally sharp senses were starting to get fuzzy as the time passed. It was harder for him to tell how much time had passed due to his blindness, but he knew it must have been days. He was incredibly thirsty, Snuffles and him only being allowed one drink per day, and he was starving. However long they'd been there, they had yet to receive any kind of food.

Snuffles, who had his head in Harry's lap, whined pitifully.

"We'll get out of here, Snuffles," Harry assured, rubbing his fur comfortingly.

Snuffles whined again, not sounding so sure of that.

"I'm sure the police are looking for us," Harry went on. "Sammy would have noticed that we were gone and called them. You know I never go a day without talking to him."

Snuffles gave a short, half-hearted bark, not bothering to lift his head from Harry's lap.

"You must promise me something, Snuffles," Harry said after a moment of silence.

Snuffles lifted his head from Harry's lap, licking Harry's cheek gently.

"I think my head injury is only getting worse," Harry told his dog. "If something should happen to me before we're found, you must promise that you will do everything in your power to get out of here. I couldn't stand it if something happened to you."

Snuffles whined his disagreement with this plan.

"I mean it, Snuffles," Harry said sternly, turning his blind eyes to where he thought Snuffles' head was. "I won't stand to be the cause of your death… again."

Snuffles growled deeply, baring his fangs, though Harry couldn't see it.

"I know, I know," Harry muttered, reaching out and pulling the dog to him. "So you say, boy. So you say."

Snuffles gave a rather put upon sigh before lowering his head back onto Harry's lap.

**TWO**

Snuffles was no ordinary Deerhound, though only Harry knew it. He watched with worry as Harry fazed in and out of consciousness, the wound on the back of his head getting worse by the hour. If they didn't get out of there soon, Harry wouldn't survive long enough for even whatever his mad cousin was planning. Once Harry had passed out again, Snuffles gave his face a lick before padding over to the front of the cell and sniffing around the bars. Snuffles thought that the bars might just be wide enough apart for him to squeeze through, his ribcage being more flexible than a human's would be.

Sucking in his breath, Snuffles pushed his head through the bars, followed slowly and carefully by the rest of his massive body. He felt a rib crack as he pushed through, but he ignored the pain in favor of getting out and finding someone to help Harry. Once Snuffles had squeezed through to the other side, he breathed out again, causing a fresh wave of agony to wash through him as his lungs expanded against his broken ribs. He lowered his head for a moment, riding out the pain, before slowly moving toward the door, hoping no one would be on the other side. It was difficult to hide when one was roughly the size of a small pony. After fumbling with the knob for a moment, Snuffles managed to make it open and peered carefully through the crack. The dim room on the other side appeared to be empty, so Snuffles eased his way through the door, trying not to open it more than necessary. Once inside the room, Snuffles used his paw to push to door gently closed, wincing slightly at the click it made. He looked around the room, sniffing carefully, but there wasn't anyone about.

He saw another door across the room and made his way to it, opening it more easily than the last because it had a handle rather than a knob. He peered into the next room to find his dear cousin speaking with a tall blonde Snuffles would have recognized anywhere. He stifled his growl with difficulty, knowing that he was in no condition for a fight with what had to be three broken ribs. He snuck into the room, crouching low on his haunches and using his back legs to keep the door from making too much noise as it swung closed. He hid behind a rather fortunately placed divan and waited patiently for the two humans to vacate the room, thankful that his cousin hadn't recognized him. Being dead had its quirks.

It took nearly an hour for the humans to leave, and when they did, they went in the same direction Snuffles was headed. He rolled his eyes at the unfairness of it all before following them at a safe distance. Through another door, and he was standing in a stairwell. He could smell that the humans had gone through another door leading off of the stairs, but Snuffles decided to go up them instead. At the next landing, he saw a glass door, which he pushed open, finding himself on a city street.

_Just lovely, _he thought, looking around. _I'm in the Bronx. Just how the hell am I supposed to find help now?_ With a deep sigh, he gingerly began walking to the right, toward Manhattan, hoping that his ribs would hold out long enough for him to reach help.

**THREE**

Severus rubbed his eyes tiredly, having gone over the contents of Harry's suitcase a dozen times, and still not finding anything useful. He thought going out for a spot of lunch would be just the thing to ease the tension. Perhaps he would try the British food restaurant he'd seen on Hudson Street during his initial exploration of the city.

As he walked, he allowed his mind to wander to the problem at hand. Right now, his biggest question was; where had he heard the name Snuffles before? He knew it somehow, but he didn't know why. The information was tickling his brain, trying to come forward, but staying stubbornly elusive. Snuffles was a dog, yes. A large black dog, if he wasn't mistaken, and the description just sounded so bloody _familiar_. It was driving Severus mad. Just as he turned onto Hudson, he heard a startled whining just in front of him. Looking up, he saw what had to be the biggest dog he'd ever seen in his life, staggering toward him and whimpering pathetically.

This had to be Snuffles, but where had he come from? Severus looked around, trying to determine if the dog was being followed, but he saw nothing untoward. Looking at the dog again, something snapped into place in his mind and his eyes grew wide with incredulity. "Black?" he hissed, leaning toward the dog. That was when Snuffles collapsed.

**FOUR**

Sirius groaned painfully as he opened his eyes, realizing two things at once. First, he was a human again; second, he was lying on a bed in a strange room he didn't recognize.

"Awake at last, Black?" Snape's voice filtered into his head.

Sirius groaned again, allowing his eyes to drift closed. Of all the people, why the hell did it have to be Snape? What was Snape doing in New York, anyway? "Where?" he murmured, surprised when his voice couldn't handle more than that.

"You are in my hotel room in Manhattan," Snape replied briskly, propping Sirius up on pillows none too gently. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you. Alive."

"Your concern is touching, Snape," Sirius groused, taking the offered glass of chilled water and drinking greedily. "Really it is."

Snape snorted inelegantly before actually coming into Sirius' line of sight. Sirius' smart retort died on his lips when he saw the concern on Snape's face. "How the hell did you end up in Manhattan in that shape?" the man asked sharply. "You didn't walk all the way from New Jersey?"

Sirius rolled his eyes irritably, feeling more coherent now that he was waking up. His ribs weren't hurting him anymore, so he could move more freely. "No, I walked from the Bronx," Sirius replied, equally sharp. "They have Harry. I was looking for help."

"Who has Harry?" Snape asked, looking most interested in the answer. "Where are they keeping him?"

"Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange," Sirius muttered, his eyes narrowing as he thought of what he'd like to do to those two. "As far as I can tell, it's just them. They didn't see me leaving, but they'll know by now that I'm gone. We have to go back and get Harry."

**FIVE**

Bella was livid. Potter claimed not to know when the dog had left or even how it had gotten out. There was something not right about that monster Potter kept for a pet, and the thought that it had snuck out was not soothing. She decided to enact a bit of indirect revenge on the brat, just so that she could crush him later.

"Alohamora," she muttered quietly, smirking a bit as the door opened to her with no trouble. She snuck into the dark foyer, listening intently to the sounds of the house. "Lumos," she said, and a bright light came on at the tip of her wand. She snuck slowly through the house until she'd assured herself that it was empty.

She went to the sitting room and busied herself with looking at the nauseating photographs the Muggle had sitting about, most of them too lovey dovey for her tastes. The two of them in the park, the two of them having diner in some Muggle establishment, the two of them at the zoo: it was disgusting. She sneered at the pictures, her body trembling in anticipation for when the Muggle arrived home. She seated herself in an armchair in the dark sitting room, ready for a long wait. The activities to come would more than make up for the boredom.

**SIX**

Samuel Thompson sighed tiredly as he unlocked his front door, tossing his bag on the floor before proceeding into the dark living room. He'd had a long day, compounded with anxiety over his missing lover. He'd been wracking his brains since the detective had visited him, trying to think of anyone who might have taken his Harry away from him. He bypassed the living room without turning on any lights in favor of going to the kitchen to make some coffee. He needed it after the day he'd had.

Once he had the coffee maker going, he went into the bathroom to freshen up, scrubbing at his eyes, trying to force himself to cry. As of yet, he hadn't cried for Harry. He felt like crying, he was grieving inside, but the tears wouldn't come, his eyes remained stubbornly dry. He thought that if he could just cry, maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. Unfortunately, he hadn't cried in years, mainly because his father had always gotten angry if he cried. Incidentally, he hadn't spoken to his father since he'd come out nearly seven years ago. With a sigh, he pushed those thoughts aside, going into the kitchen to get his coffee.

"Sam, you're such a push over," he muttered to himself and he entered the living room, sipping his coffee carefully.

"Yes, Sam," a woman agreed, startling him so badly that he dropped his coffee cup. "You are _such_ a push over." She chuckled darkly, a sound that made Sam's hackles stand.

He flicked the light switch, bathing the living room in bright light, and saw a woman sitting in his favorite chair by the fire. She had long black hair, dark hooded eyes, and an expression that was so far beyond crazy that Sam felt frozen to the spot. "Who are you?" he demanded, sounding far surer of himself than he felt. "Get out of my house!"

The woman clucked her tongue at him. "You're not much of a host, are you, Sam?" she asked, standing up. "What ever would dear Harry say?"

Sam's eyes widened at the mention of Harry's name. "You're the one that took him, aren't you?" he said softly, following her progress across the room. "What have you done with him?"

"Don't worry your pretty head about Potter," she replied, still advancing slowly. "He'll be taken care of in due time."

_Potter?_ Sam thought irreverently. _Harry's name is Porter!_ "Get out of here!" he demanded again.

She chuckled. "Oh, I'll be going soon enough. First, I want to see the color of your blood."

Sam's legs finally unstuck, and he began running toward the door, intent on getting out and getting help. The last thing he heard before the blackness took him was the woman shouting, "_Stupefy!_"

**SEVEN**

"Are you sure this is it?" Severus asked, eyeing the building speculatively.

Black growled his answer, pawing at the glass door uselessly.

_Good that the door swings out, or he'd have never gotten out of there,_ Severus thought, stepping around the dog to pull the door open. Black pushed past him, running down the stairs quickly, his nails ticking loudly in the stairwell.

"Would you be careful?" Severus ground out, following Black at a more sedate pace. "They'll hear you!"

Black didn't seem to hear him. He was now sitting by a heavy door that was painted a terrible shade of green, looking at Severus expectantly. Severus tried the knob, but the door was locked. After a quick _Alohamora_, Severus and Black went into another room furnished like an office. "Which way?" Severus whispered, looking at the four doors coming off of this room.

Black padded across the garish, bright blue carpet to a door that was behind the large, clashing green divan. Severus opened this door to find another office looking room beyond it. Across this room was another door, which led to a flight of stairs. At the bottom of these stairs, Severus found Potter passed out in a cell that had obviously been magicked into existence. Potter looked like Hell. He was dirty, slumped over in the cell, and looked as though he hadn't eaten in days. Black was silent, watching Severus as he examined the wards with his wand.

"Stand aside, Black," he muttered, pointing his wand at the bars. "Let's see if I can get in there."

**EIGHT**

Bella was breathing deeply, relishing in the mess she'd made with Muggle's blood. Potter would learn not to make fun of her, or keep information from her. Once she told him that his lover was dead, his spirit would be broken. He'd give them whatever they wanted without a fight.

"It's been lovely, Sam," she told the pile of gore who was once Samuel Thompson. "I'm afraid I can't stay for tea. Busy schedule, you know." With an insane cackle, she Disapparated back to the office building where they were holding Potter. Lucius was there, and he did not look happy.

"Where have you been?" he demanded angrily as soon as she appeared. "You were supposed to watch Potter!"

"Oh, where's baby Potter going to go?" she asked dismissively. "I just went to give his little _boyfriend_ a present. I wasn't gone long."

"Idiot!" Lucius exclaimed, pointing his wand at her. "_Crucio!_" Bella fell on the ground, writhing in pain as Lucius' _Cruciatus_ did its work.

"He's gone!" Lucius shouted once she'd stood back up. "Gone, do you hear me! Someone's taken him!"

"What are you talking about?" Bella asked, running a still bloody hand through her hair.

"That bloody dog must have led someone here!" Lucius raged, storming around the room. "Potter. Is. Gone!"

Bella stared at him. "But it was just a dog," she said.

"_Dogs_ are very loyal to their masters," Lucius groused. "Too bad people can't learn from that example."

Bella glared at him. "None were more loyal to the Dark Lord than I!" she cried indignantly. "I served him even when others thought him gone! I tried to find him! I spent—"

"Oh, save your Azkaban lecture for someone who cares," Lucius interrupted. "We have to find Potter."

"We found him once," Bella remarked. "He won't be difficult to find again."

"We'll see," Lucius muttered, turning his back on her.

**NINE**

The detective stood quietly, sipping his coffee and ignoring the cacophony of noise around him. On the floor in front of him was what remained of Samuel Thompson. As he took another sip of his coffee, he contemplated what the motive for this brutal murder could have been. He recognized Dark spell work when he saw it, and he was close to positive that the person or persons who had done this were the same as the ones who'd stolen Potter. The question now was _why_.

"We found his arm, sir," a rookie uniform who looked quite ill told him.

"Where?" the detective asked, turning to follow the rookie. The youngster led him to the kitchen, where the arm (part of it anyway) had been stashed neatly in the spice cupboard. The detective raised a satirical eyebrow at this, taking an unconcerned sip from his now lukewarm coffee. He grimaced at the taste and threw the rest out. "You find any other bits of him?" he asked, turning back toward the rookie.

The ill looking young man shook his head.

"You gonna puke?" the detective asked.

"Maybe," the rookie replied.

"Make sure you do it in the john," the detective told him. "No need to disrespect the dead any more than we already are."

The rookie nodded. "Yes, sir."

The detective's respect for the innocent dead had steadily increased during the war, despite his family's insistence that the dead were nothing. This respect was what had ultimately led him to betray his upbringing and fight against his own beliefs. It was also the reason why he'd been forced to leave England in the end. No one wanted a traitor around, not even the people the traitor in question had become a traitor _for_. As he thought, the detective had been walking around the house, looking for more evidence. He found the late Samuel Thompson's head in the pantry, sitting on a shelf next to a box of _Kraft Macaroni and Cheese_ and dipping blood onto the bag of potato crisps sitting on the shelf below it.

**TEN**

Harry knew as soon as he regained consciousness that he was no longer in the stone cell. He was lying, instead, on a firm but comfortable bed with a warm quilt over him. At least, he _thought_ it was a quilt. It certainly _felt_ like a quilt. After a moment, he realized how asinine these thoughts were and struggled into a sitting position.

"Does your head hurt?" a voice asked from his right. He felt he should know this voice, but he didn't know _why_ he should know it. He turned in the direction it was coming from.

"Who's there?" he asked, blinking his useless eyes as though trying to make them focus.

"Well, you certainly don't _look_ blind," the voice said. "Surely it hasn't been so long that you've forgotten what I sound like, Potter."

Harry's heartbeat trebled at that. "Snape?" he asked incredulously. "What are _you_ doing in the U.S.?" As soon as the question was out, he realized how stupid it was. His brain felt foggy though, and he couldn't for the life of him think of anything else to say. He could practically _feel_ Snape rolling his eyes.

"Does your head hurt?" Snape asked again rather than answer.

"No," Harry replied, rubbing his temple anyway. "My brain's all muddled though."

"That'll be the potion I gave you," Snape said. Harry heard a rustle of cloth as the man stood up from the chair he'd been sitting in and moved across the room. Harry next heard water pouring into a glass. "It'll go away after a little bit," Snape said as he moved, presumably so that Harry would know where he was.

"Do you know what happened to my dog?" Harry asked. This, in his opinion, was the most important question.

"I'm right here, Harry," Sirius said from Harry's left.

Harry turned toward him, his eyes widening in shock. "What if they'd _seen_ you, Sirius!" he cried. "Bellatrix would have killed you on the spot!"

Sirius chuckled. "I haven't lost my senses yet, Harry," he said. "I'm only human in here. Out there, I'm still Snuffles."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, turning to the right again when he felt Snape touching his arm. A cool glass was pressed into his hand, around which his fingers reflexively went.

"Water," Snape said by way of explanation.

Harry nodded his understanding and took a sip. The cool liquid felt wonderful on his parched throat. "Thank you," he said after he'd swallowed. Snape didn't reply.

**ELEVEN**

After reviewing the pictures of the latest crime scene, the detective was sure that Mr. Thompson had been dead before the maniac had dismembered him. He couldn't _prove_ this, of course, but he was sure of it. He'd know whether he was right as soon as he got the autopsy report back. For now, he'd just have to trust his instincts, which after the war had gotten fairly good. How the coroner felt like explaining the nerve damage caused by _Cruciatus_ was none of his concern. They'd probably attribute it to electric shock, which was all fine and dandy by his standards.

The woman's magical signature had been in Mr. Thompson's home – had _saturated _it, in fact – so he was sure that this crime was connected to Potter's disappearance. Just _why_ she'd felt the need to kill Potter's oblivious partner was still a question, one that he'd have loved to be able to answer. Unfortunately, he could not.

**TWELVE**

Harry knew as soon as they'd appeared in Sammy's house that something wasn't right. It smelled like death.

"Lumos," Sirius said behind him. He felt Sirius' arm go up to hold his wand aloft.

"Well, isn't this just a happy pile of horseshit," Snape muttered unhappily as Sirius gasped.

"What is it?" Harry asked hesitantly. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.

"I think we'd better leave," Snape said instead of replying. "They could come back at any time, you know."

"Who could?" Harry asked, but he thought he already knew the answer to that.

"You think he's still here?" Sirius said, once again ignoring Harry. "He might be injured."

"Oh, do use what passes for your brain, Black!" Snape snapped irritably. "If he's still here, he's far worse than injured. We should leave. Now."

"WHAT IN BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON!" Harry shouted, finally growing impatient with the lack of information.

"Would you be quiet, Potter?" Snape growled. "Do you _want_ to get caught in here?"

"What I _want_," Harry ground through clenched teeth, "is for someone to tell me why it smells like a slaughter house in here."

"Harry," Sirius muttered gently.

"Because most of this place is covered in blood," Snape said at the same time.

"Snape!" Sirius cried, sounding angry. "Have you no tact?"

"Blood?" Harry asked in a small voice. He carefully stepped out of Sirius' arms. "Sammy?" he called out, carefully feeling his way forward. "Sam?" There was no answer. He spun around when there was the loud 'crack' of Apparition in the foyer.

"Who's there?" a vaguely familiar voice asked loudly. "I am armed, I warn you!" it added.

Harry turned to where he'd left Sirius and Snape. _'Who is it?'_ he mouthed silently, hoping that Sirius still had his wand lit.

"And just who is asking?" Snape called back loftily, altering his voice to an interestingly classic nasal tone that Harry wouldn't have expected Snape to be capable of. Harry heard Sirius snort beside him.

"I am the police," the voice replied, sounding more than slightly irritated. "Now, why don't you just cooperate with me, hm?"

**THIRTEEN**

Severus traded a look with Black, who shrugged his shoulders. Just what the hell was a wizard doing working for the Muggle police? "Well," he called back in his nasal voice. "I find it easier to talk to people I can see."

Harry looked in his direction somewhat frantically. _'What are you doing?'_ he mouthed.

Severus wondered why he did that when he couldn't see, but shrugged it off.

"You think I'm going to fall for that old trick?" the policeman asked, not coming into view. "You probably have your wand pointed over here, ready to kill me."

Severus, who did indeed have his wand pointed toward the dark foyer, called back. "I take offence to that accusation, sir. I would never resort to such trickery."

Black snorted again and Severus shot a glare in his direction. Black shrugged his shoulders, as though to say, _What? It was funny._

"Who's in there with you, Mr. I-Take-Offence?" the policeman asked pleasantly enough. "It's not polite to have tea and not invite everyone."

"I'll all alone in here," Severus replied, his voice starting to complain about its false tone. "Why don't you come in and we can have biscuits and cake?"

Black was now shaking with silent laughter, Harry shaking him gently to make him stop. Unfortunately, this little trick didn't work.

"I would, but I don't believe you," the policeman called back. "Why don't you just tell me who's in there with you?"

"Now you've called me a liar twice," Severus replied. "You're manners need work, I'm afraid."

Tears began streaming down Black's cheeks as he held a hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep the laughter in. Harry was looking in Severus' direction, his expression helpless and dismayed. '_I can't make him stop laughing,' _he mouthed.

_Idiot_, Severus thought irritably, watching the foyer intently.

"Sorry about that, but I've met a lot of liars in my life," the policeman replied. "Why don't you just come over here so I can believe you."

"Maybe I don't believe that you're really a policeman," Severus said, wishing that the man would just step out of the damned foyer already. His voice was starting to hurt. "Maybe you're one of the people who decided this place needed a new coat of paint."

Black was now on his knees, shaking so hard that Severus thought the man's ribs might crack. He hoped they would.

There was silence from the foyer for a moment. Finally, the policeman called, "All right, you may have a point with that one. I'm coming out." Slowly, a black shoe appeared, followed by a leg clad in brown trousers, although they might have been a different color. It was too dark to tell. The policeman, who was dressed in a rumpled suit covered by a trench coat, slowly came into view. His wand arm dropped to his side at the same moment Severus' did the same.

"Snape?" the man asked incredulously.

"Malfoy?" Snape asked at the same moment. His hair was shorter, and he was a bit older, but Severus would recognize Draco Malfoy anywhere.

In the corner, Black, who had finally stopped laughing, said, "I'll be a monkey's left titty."

Harry, who had been silent up until now, burst into tears.

* * *

**Many thanks to…**

**LeeLeePotter – Keep in mind that it's been ten years since Sev's seen Harry, and another two years since Siri 'died'. He just needed a little push, that's all. Hehehehe **

**Ruth – I hope this chapter eased some of your curiosity.**


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